


Forget-Me-Not

by GhostsThough



Category: Danny Phantom, Fairly OddParents, Nicktoons Unite! - Fandom, SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon), The Adventures of Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, Work Up For Adoption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:39:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostsThough/pseuds/GhostsThough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all anyone needs is a second chance. For Timmy Turner, he’s had one too many seconds. And this one just may be his final one. Waking up to a changed world where everyone is happy, life is perfect, and there is no need for fairy god parents, it is hard to see the cracks. After all, everyone is happy – and shouldn’t he, now that his parents are paying attention to him, he isn’t bullied, and is like any other spoiled teen? …But once you take the rose colored glasses off, it’s hard to replace them. Timmy didn’t wake to Dimmsdale – he woke to a combined world, because the last time he remembered, Dimmsdale wasn’t a combination of Amity Park, Retroville, and Bikini Bottom. Life wasn’t as it should be, and too bad for Timmy, all his second chances were used up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget-Me-Not

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my friends, Pooshpin (who helped me with the title for this fan fiction)and mommavanillabear for inspiring this AU and the completion of chapter one.  
> You can find my tumblr page for this AU [here.](http://forget-me-not-nicktoons.tumblr.com/)

**_"Maybe that's all anyone needs – a second chance."  
~Danny Phantom_ **

* * *

 

Timmy wakes to white. It stabs into his eyes, making him wince and his whole head buzz with a headache. On top of that, his whole body feels like one giant bruise. He imagines his body as a mess of purples, greens, and yellows, but when he finally can open his eyes again, he looks and sees his arm, a light tan against white bed sheets, and no bruising.

A patch of sunlight coming through a wide window to his left bleaches the floors an eggshell white. Dust motes dance in the light, and a fly buzzes around, they're beat the steady beep coming from his right.

 _A heart monitor_ , his mind supplies before he turns head to behold the piece of machinery. An IV drip stands tall beside it, leading to a tube attached to his elbow. Seeing it made his stomach lurch, and he quickly looked away, headache be damned. The throb and pressure behind his eyes was well worth it.

So, he was in a hospital. He's been in one before for his tonsils. The question now is  _why_.

"C-Cosmo…" He was startled by his own voice. It was hoarse, cracking, and  _deep._  He could feel his throat rumble from it. The sensation was enough to make his jaw snap shut. He swallowed (spit was hardly a good substitute for water), remembering colds and croaky voices. He tried again. "Cosmo… _Wanda?"_  Nope, his throat and voice still rumbled, and whispering hardly did anything either. But he didn't feel like he had a cold…

Timmy frowned, and glanced around the room some more. There was no cloud of smoke or exclamations of "Hi Timmy!" to greet him. The room remained quiet sans for the beeping heart monitor.

Timmy didn't wake to white, he woke to  _disappointment._  Something in him felt empty, confused; the beeping picked up. His breath hitched.

What if—No, he was twelve, and followed Da Rules (okay, not all the time, and he's had a few too close calls with losing his fairies, but still). He remembered them, Poof too, and his last wish.

And he  _knew_  that wishing for a peanut butter milkshake with peanut butter sauce is the last thing that would ever result in his fairies being taken, or even quitting if that was the case.

Maybe Cosmo accidentally poisoned his milkshake? If that were the case, then maybe he was sent to the hospital and they weren't here because they felt guilty. But then again, Wanda could have extracted the poison with magic…couldn't she? All these questions made his head swim.

The fact is, he  _remembered_. It wasn't like at the Fairy Court trial and losing his memories, or after fighting the Mawgu (Jimmy had mentioned post dramatic stress then.) He knew that in some cases, a child remembers their fairies, but…but he should be able dredge up the memory of them  _leaving._ But everything after the milkshake wish is blurry, and then cuts to him waking up here in the hospital.

He felt numb. The ache behind his eyes was replaced with the itch of welling tears. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

"Don't cry Turner," he said to himself, trying to ignore the unfamiliar rumble to his voice. "This, this doesn't mean anything." He was just hurting, scared, frustrated, and confused; his fairies not showing up was just the cherry on top. There was no need for tears.

Rubbing his eyes, he tried sitting up. Everything felt weak and unsteady, and when he planted his hands down into the mattress and pushed, he just as quickly fell back onto the bed. He blinked doltishly up at the ceiling, growled, and tried again; same result.

He did not like anything to do with doctors and hospitals, especially Dimmsdale Hospital. The last time he was here, he had to get his tonsils removed, and Vicky had been a volunteer! Now with his godparents gone ( _not here_ , he corrected himself), he had every right to be scared for his life!

"Have to…uh, get out of here!" he declared, clearing his throat and wincing at the deep crackle. Seriously, why was his voice so weird?!

Finally managing to sit up (although he found it hard not to just roll back into bed from how shaky he was), he gave a mental triumphant fist pump. Now the more tricky part: getting up.

When you're young and therefore short, the world seems bigger. So when he pulls the covers off his legs to move over the side of the bed, he was not expecting to see long limbs that had been hidden underneath white bed sheets. The beeps on his heart monitor picked up.

His legs are a pasty, thin and long and dusted with brown hairs. His feet were even bigger, and didn't seem to fit his lanky frame. Holding his hands up to his face (his right index finger had a fingertip pulse checker-thing on it) showed the same thing. He turned his hands this way and that, like he had never seen them before, shaking with his mouth ajar.

"Oh dear!" someone exclaimed, and Timmy gives a start. He didn't even hear the door opening. The heart monitor was going crazy – when the nurse rushes over, she stares earnestly into Timmy's eyes and commands, "breathe!"

Breathe? But wasn't he? His chest felt tight and heavy, and darkness seeped in the corners of his vision. Doing as she said, he took a deep breath.

And immediately he started coughing, taking in raspy breaths and gaping like a fish out of water whenever his throat clenched up, and he couldn't inhale. The tears he kept at bay earlier flowed down his cheeks – maybe from the force of his coughs or his fear and confusion, he didn't know. If anyone asked, he would blame it entirely on the former.

But looking down at himself…everything felt distant and small. His own body, the nurse, the bed, the room – all of them were different. Like…like when he would wish to be older. Or taller maybe. This…this is what it felt like. Oh my gosh, was he—

"Honey, I need you to breathe!" The nurse's voice cut through his thoughts, startling him. His eyes focused on hers, a deep brown, and faintly he could see his face in their reflection, twisted in horror. "Focus on me, dear, you're going to be alright. I'm going to prop you up in your bed."

He nodded like a bobble head, letting her push him back into the pillows she built up to support him. He continued staring down at his hands – bigger, but distant. Wiggling his toes, he saw them move beneath the sheet she draped over him, and they were far down and away, like they weren't even his own. But that was him, wiggling his  _own toes_.

The nurse continued fretting over him, but he cut her off with his question. "Could you…a mirror?" he asked brokenly.

"Not right now, hun," the Nurse said, and went to the door to call out into the hallway. Timmy didn't catch exactly what was said, but a moment later a couple nurses and a doctor came rushing in.

Timmy blinked hard. His eyes ached, and a part of him hoped this was a dream. That he would wake up in his room and see his fairy god parents and god brother.

He opened his eyes again. The hospital staff stared back at him. He sighed; still here.

"Why is he propped up?"

"He was having issues breathing because of an anxiety attack – we can lower him down again."

A doctor with a blue mask over his face came into view. His glasses were round and tinted, and he wore his hair back in a ponytail. "Do you know your name?" he asked.

Timmy blinked. "Yeah, Timmy Turner."

"Good." He fetched a small penlight, and shined it in his eyes while humming under his breath. "Pupils are not of equal diameter…" he noted. "Do you know your birthday?"

The pain in his head was coming back with a vengeance. Timmy rolled his head back with a groan. "Why's every…thing, different?"

The doctor snapped his fingers as he turned the penlight off. "Timmy, I need you to stay with me, okay?"

"Where's Cosmo…Wanda…my brother?" he asked. "Where are you guys…?" Tears gathered in his sore eyes again. "Why am I bigger?"

"Timmy, stay with—"

Darkness.

Timmy relived those memories the next time he woke in late evening. The nurses and doctors were gone, his only company the fly still insistently buzzing around the room. He ignored it though to gaze outdoors. There wasn't much of a view, just the parking lot with cars leaving and entering the hospital in different states of panic. Outside his door, the dinner trolley went by, its wheels squeaking and silverware rattling.

He probably hasn't eaten in a while, but the combined smells of food and hospital disinfectant made his stomach lurch.

Breathing through his mouth, he turned away from the view outside to the patient board on the wall. It gave him something to do while he waited for something to happen.

 _"Room number: 914. Nurse: Michelle. Attending (Lead) Doctor: Dr. Frier…"_ His eyes skimmed over the rest, momentarily stopping to read  _"We love you Timmy, get better! Love, Mom and Dad"_  written under the  _"Hopes for the Day."_

But if that made him raise an eyebrow, what he read next made his stomach drop.

_"Today's Date: 7-15-19"_

_'…But the year is 2012,'_  Timmy thought numbly.

It was in that moment someone chose to come in, as soon after Timmy was staring down a camera lens.

"Look honey, our precious gift from above is awake!" A familiar voice exclaimed, followed by an "Oh Timmy!" and then being pulled into a hug.

Timmy blinked. Then blinked again to be sure what he was seeing was real. But nothing changed. Mom and Dad were hugging him, and his Dad was capturing the moment on his video camera.

Wait, backtrack. "Dad…what did you call me?" The last Timmy heard his Dad call him that was when he was eight and happy. Then his parents lied to him, told him they were going to parts unknown, and Timmy had called Vicky. He didn't know it then, but he had practically given his soul to the devil.

He was nine when he stopped believing he was their precious gift from above.

"Our precious gift from above," Dad said as Mom drew out of the hug. Dad held on longer. "How are you feeling Timmy?" he asked, backing off. Right off the bat Timmy's eyes zoned in on how gray his Dad was, and how his Mom's hair was darker than usual, like she dyed her hair but couldn't get a perfect match. Not to mention the crow's feet in the corners of their mouths and eyes.

Timmy felt his head swim with everything. First, he woke up in a hospital with no memory of what landed him there. Second, no Cosmo, Wanda, or Poof. Third, he was in the body of a  _teenager_. Four, there's a six year gap from the last date he remembered, and lastly, his parents come in claiming he was a precious gift from above, which they haven't done in years….

What the heck is going on?

His eye twitched, but otherwise he kept his poker face intact as he replied, "I'm feeling better…"

His Mom and Dad shared a look.

"Dr. Frier told us you had a panic attack when you woke up earlier," Mom mentioned. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, and her smile drooped.

Timmy had to look away as he said, "I don't like hospitals."

His Dad looked taken back. "The doctor said you would be confused, but I didn't think it would be this bad!" Dad cried. "Timmy, for a concussion you can have free scrambled eggs and oatmeal!" he exclaimed, waving his arms. Timmy winced, both for the loudness and the fact that his Dad waved his arms with his camera in hand, which was still recording. Reviewing that footage would be a dizzying experience.

Mom's smile didn't come back, although her lips did twitch upwards at Dad's exclamation.

"That is if Timmy has to stay in the hospital," she told Dad. She turned to Timmy and rested a hand on his forearm. "Timmy, the Doctor also said you called out to a  _'Wanda'_  and  _'Cosmo'_ , and then  _'your brother'_  before you passed out…Is there a reason for that…?"

 _Yes._ "No… but I think they're from a show I watched once," Timmy said, shrugging.

His Mom continued staring worriedly at him, but after a moment she sighed. "Oh alright." She nudged Dad with her elbow. "I guess I'm becoming like your Father, a constant worry wart."

Dad laughed, and Timmy forced out some titters behind his hand.

Dad wiped a tear from his eye. "Well son, its good see that you're alright."

"You had us worried."

"Uh, sorry?" Timmy said, frowning.

Mom and Dad either heard his hesitant apology, or ignored it because they didn't call him out on it. But before anything else could be said, the same doctor from before – the one with the tinted glasses and hair pulled back in a ponytail – came in.

"Oh, you two are still in here." The doctor's orotund voice hurt Timmy's head.

 _'Does everyone have to be so loud?'_  Timmy almost yelled out loud, but bit down on his lip and stayed silent. Dr. Frier didn't act mean, but in the end he was a doctor. And Timmy hated anything that came with hospitals, from the staff all the way down to the gowns you have to wear.

"Dr. Frier," Dad said, snapping the LCD monitor shut and holding his hand out to shake. "Nice to see you again."

"Likewise." Dr. Frier glanced down at Dad's hand, but didn't take it. Instead he headed over to Timmy's bedside.

"Timmy," Dr. Frier greeted, "how are you feeling?"

"A little dizzy. Loud noises hurt," Timmy said.

"Ah yes, as you should be feeling after a concussion like yours. Anyway, I would like to run some neurological exams to see whether your stay in the hospital needs to be prolonged."

Timmy gulped. "Nerd-logical exams?"

" _Neurological._  It's painless," Dr. Frier reassured.

"Okay…" Timmy said, not the least bit at ease. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt his hand being taken, and looked up to his Mom's smiling face. She squeezed his hand, and Dad hovered behind, biting his fingernails in worry. Timmy didn't know how to react – warmth bloomed in his chest, and he felt a sharp pain in his nose and his eyes water. He turned away. It was too much for him, but Mom and Dad's silent support staved off his fear for the neurological exam.

Turning back to Dr. Frier, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay, let's get this over with…"

Dr. Frier glanced at his parents, looking slightly annoyed at their presence but didn't say anything. "First, we will measure your visual acuity…"

Timmy passed. He was sure he shouldn't have. Dr. Frier insisted he was fine, and that he should take it easy, eat certain foods… a lot of mumbo jumbo that he couldn't remember – but he saw the doctor hand Mom a pamphlet that looked important, so she should know.

 _Couldn't remember._  It was funny that he couldn't remember a lot of things right now. The fact that several years of his life was wiped from his memory. Timmy should know. He should know the embarrassment of his voice cracking from puberty. He should remember growing into the body he now inhabited that was too long, too big— _just too much._

He should remember his parents _love._

He should remember Wanda, Cosmo and Poof leaving.

So maybe it wasn't funny. He was confused, scared, frustrated, but for some reason he wanted to laugh.

And he almost did as his Mom buckled him like a child.

"You're shaking," Mom stated, looking worried.

He was. He practically vibrated in his seat; his whole back hurt, like when he would play outside during the winter with his friends and Chester would shove snow down his back. His legs twitched involuntarily, and his grip on the ends of his shirt (a black shirt, which was ironic considering what he was mourning) was excoriatingly tight.

"I'm just excited to go home," Timmy mumbled, head bowed, "I hate hospitals."

He hated hospitals with a passion, and was glad to leave, but how do you tell your parents that the last thing you remember was when you were eleven and you were slurping down a milkshake? You can't, because that would land you back in the hospital, and Timmy didn't want to go back there.

And a part of him…

Dad turned around in the driver's seat to ruffle Timmy's hair gently. "Don't worry Timmy, we'll be home soon!"

"And when we are, I want you to go to bed, okay?" A peck on the forehead, and Mom closed the door to get into the passenger seat. Timmy pressed his forehead to the warm window, hot from the stifling heat outside.

…A part of him liked this. The doting. The love. Something he missed out on for four years. Maybe he was selfish, but he missed it.

Timmy pulled the collar of his shirt over his mouth to hide the frown that spread across his face. His free arm was used to cover his eyes when the tears started leaking out.

"Is the sunlight hurting your eyes?" Mom asked as Dad started driving. Timmy bit his lip, feeling a rush of nausea hit him from the car's initial jerk. The following turns and braking didn't help either.

Timmy nodded an affirmative, and Mom rubbed his knee, saying something. He didn't really listen. It was probably supposed to be comforting, but he couldn't take it. Oh how he wanted it, but he couldn't. This had to be a dream. Some coma dream. Maybe Vicky put him in a coma. Maybe he accidently fell into an alternative universe where his parents loved him and fairy godparents didn't exist. Maybe he was just fooling himself…

A few minutes later, the entirety of which Timmy spent in darkness, they finally pulled into their driveway. Timmy uncovered his eyes, praying they weren't red and that his cheeks weren't flushed like they always did whenever he cried, and sighed at the house's familiar exterior. He could even see his tree house in the backyard.

Dad pushed a button on the visor that made the garage door open as the car pulled up. Coming to a stop inside the garage, he turned off the vehicle and before either of Timmy's parents could do it for him, Timmy unbuckled and got out of the car.

Straight away he regretted his hastiness, as a wave of dizziness hit him, and he fell back against the car, clutching his head. In an instant Mom and Dad were out of the car and at his side.

"Be careful!" Dad said, taking one of Timmy's arms and easing him through the garage door connecting them to the foyer. Mom took his other side, and from there they both worked together to get Timmy upstairs to his room.

Timmy dragged his feet the whole way, feeling sluggish and awkward on his long legs that had to support all this new weight. It was like he was in an eleven year old body again, except this time he had weights pressing down on his shoulders and he walked on stilts until his knees buckled.

He didn't like it, but couldn't do much about it.

Mom and Dad eased him down into his bed (he didn't even remember going up the stairs…), and pulled the covers over him gently.

Mom swept a hand over his forehead, smiling softly. "Sleep well Timmy." She pecked his forehead again, and faintly he heard his Dad whisper his own goodnight.

Timmy closed his aching eyes. He felt like he was on a roller coaster, moving around even as he laid still. But eventually the internalized motion calmed, and he succumbed to darkness.


End file.
